Tea With a Mad Girl

To everyone who’s ever hurt me;

Thank you for the scars. Thank you for the blood and pain and tears and screams you allowed me to release. Thank you for the low self-worth and reminders that self esteem is just for delusional idiots anyway. I really didn’t need that heart anyway. I mean, what would I do with it? Give it away? Better that it’s torn to pieces and destroyed. And confidence? Hah! Waste of effort. We’re all worms’ meat in the end, aren’t we? Isn’t that what the Bard said?

It really touches me that you were so considerate as to make sure I could never truly trust another person. That was one of those “if I can’t have you, no one can” things, wasn’t it? Or was it more of a “no one wants my trash once I’ve used it up”? I guess it doesn’t really matter, the result is the same. Thanks for destroying my ability to trust.

And thank god you got to me before I’d decided to have any silly dreams or hopes for my future. Now I can never be disappointed because I know nothing good will ever happen. I don’t hope for the best and then sob because reality kicked in, not me, I’m cynical and pessimistic (though that’s a good part disease, too) and I know better than that.  I don’t deceive with belief. I don’t seek greener grass next door. In fact, you’ve taught me that it’s far more realistic that there’s no grass at all over there.

Your most considerate actions (of course) were your betraying, abandoning, lying to, and breaking promises to me. Each of you was a person I had every reason to trust, a person I’d expected to have in my life until I died. Well, I suppose a few of you did kill me emotionally on your way out, so you kept THAT promise, at least. The rest of you? Need to work harder on your emotional wounding skills. I mean, that last one? A mild emotional gutting at best. You were doing a lot better with the emotional abuse and using me. And you, you! Physical scars don’t last anywhere close to as long as emotional ones, surely you know that? Do I need to lend you some of my books on mental health?

I’m sorry that I made you hurt me, but couldn’t you have done a better job of it? I’m healing again, I mean, what’s with that? Even those mental wounds I thought were too badly infected to ever heal are starting to close up. How did this happen? It’s just not right. One of you needs to come back and finish the job. I’m still alive and fighting. I’m bleeding and missing a few pieces, but I can stand – much straighter without your “support”.

your former friend lover victim s,

nutmeg

p.s. Yes, I do still love you. Sorry for that, too.

If you saw an injured animal on the side of the road, say a cat or a dog, could you just walk past it? Would you be able to walk away and just completely ignore the animal’s plight? I’m fairly willing to bet you’re saying no right now. Even if all you could do was move the animal to a place where it was out of harm’s way, or where someone else could help it, you would at least do something. So why is it we’re so willing to ignore the pain of other human beings?

I’m about to make a generalized statement which is largely my own opinion (isn’t that this whole blog, though?) and some may feel is incorrect:

wrist cutters want attention

There. I said it. Not a pretty statement, but it’s out. Now, please don’t misunderstand me with this statement. I don’t mean that they only want attention or that they don’t need help. (Oh, they do. They really do. If you’re willing to do that to yourself for any reason, you need help.) I just think that they’d cut someplace less obvious if they didn’t want to be seen. Thighs, for instance, bleed quite nicely and are really easy to hide. Wrists and arms can be less so. Even if you live in long sleeved shirts, sometimes the cuff slips up. And if you don’t? People notice when you suddenly completely change your dressing habits. Bracelets, arm bands, mittens and gloves are all options too, but again people notice if it’s a sudden change or not in season to wear.

So what’s the big deal?

I think Ottawa’s mental health crisis line said it best in their bus ads: “Think of your deepest secret. Now turn to the person next to you. Can you tell it to them?” (Along those lines… I may be paraphrasing a bit.) Asking for help is terrifying. It’s not easy. Sometimes all people can do is make it obvious so someone will notice and say something. For myself, even as open as I seem to be about things, I have a lot of trouble actually talking about my mental health. If you want more than 2 sentences out of me, I need to write/type/text. Spoken words aren’t safe to me.

What can you do? That’s what you’re asking, right? I’m not an expert, by any means, but this is what I would recommend:

• be there for them. Duh, right? You’d be surprised how often I’ve felt completely alone in my life despite being surrounded by “friends”. It can be incredibly hard to trust in situations like this. If someone with a mental health problem comes to you, please listen to them and give them your time. Don’t tell them you can’t, don’t lie, and sure as hell don’t say you’ll be there and then say “it can wait until morning” like my one former friend did to me when I asked for help during a particularly bad suicidal/depressive episode.
• get them professional help. This is especially true if you feel you can’t handle their problems on your own. Personally, I think it is unfair for someone with a mental illness to rely completely on a friend/lover. I hate myself for everytime I even did this a little bit. It’s unhealthy and obsessive, and it destroys the person who’s trying to help. It destroys relationships. If you “fail” them in any way (real or perceived) it can get very ugly very fast.
• don’t go it alone. Just as someone with mental health needs help, so do those supporting them. Do not get yourself into a situation you find uncomfortable. Depending on the illness, you could actually be putting yourself into a lot of danger by setting off one of their triggers without knowing it. For instance, I’ve been known to go off in rage on people who break promises. Even stupid little ones like “I’ll pay you back that $5”. Or, alternately, I break into tears whenever someone yells at me, no matter why they’re yelling. (Or even if I’m the one yelling.) It’s a volume thing. A lot of people don’t know these things about me and it can get them into a fair deal of trouble.
• don’t break promises. And no, this isn’t just a me thing because it makes me angry. It has to do with building trust. So never ever make a promise you aren’t 100% sure of keeping. Trust is especially important to people who are in positions like this where they feel vulnerable. Breaking trust can break a lot of progress on the road to health. Depending on their level of health, it can also trigger suicidal or depressive episodes.
• follow their lead. Yes they’ve asked for help, yes they’ve accepted you to help them. That doesn’t mean they’ll be instantly better because you’re there. Imagine the road to health as a mostly-constructed bridge covered in debris during an earthquake. It’s not an easy path to take. Sometimes they’ll have to lean heavily on you and sometimes they’ll have to go it alone. No matter what, though, don’t try to push them past their comfort. It can actually do more harm than good. It took me almost 2 years to actually see a doctor once I asked for help. Mind, it took almost dying to ask for help in the first place.
• remember that their illness is not them. Odds are they won’t. I’ve a friend that reminds me all the time that I’m not the monster, it’s just something that lives inside me. I’ve also had “friends” tell me they were disappointed in me for not being able to do things because of my illness, or for not feeling strong enough to. Like calling a doctor. I had one “friend” even tell me that she was disappointed that she had to take care of me. I have a lot of trouble trusting her with anything now.
• there is no magic wand you can wave and make things all better. Just like everything else in this life, problems don’t go away magically just because you see they’re there. I think this is one of the things that frustrates me most, as someone with mental illness. I’m not just going to cheer up because you did some random thing for me. I’m not going to magically be fine because you expect me to be. I’m sick. My moods are not controllable like a normal person’s. That’s why I’m on so many medications. That’s why I can go months on almost no sleep. That’s why I sometimes don’t eat for months. My mind sometimes has trouble telling the difference between good and bad choices, sometimes. Again, I’m sick. That’s why I need help.
• camouflage is not a cure. But it sure is popular. Be wary of the problems that are being hidden. I lie to people all the time to “protect” them from me/my illness. I say I choose things even though they happened largely due to the illness. I take responsibility for actions I do when I’m manic or depressive even if they’re things I would never normally do because I don’t want people to realize how badly the disease has me. I’m really really good at smiling until I can get 10 minutes by myself to explode. Many of my closest friends can tell you that a number of words in my vocabulary actually mean the exact opposite when I say them.

Oh, and one last thing you can do for the mentally ill, or at least THIS mad girl? Make me a cup of tea.

The other day, I was talking to my mother about a movie she’d watched (forgive me, I don’t know which one, she never said) about a teen boy who killed himself because they’d given him Lithium for his bipolar. I found this a little odd since one of my doctors had actually called Lithium the “anti-suicide” drug and suggested that to her. I’d also made mention that I really wished that the doctor I’d had when I was 18 had just put me on Lithium in the first place (instead of running me through hell with various anti-depressants that just made my swings worse) and my father suddenly yells to us from the other room “You were never suicidal. Grumpy as hell, but not suicidal.”

9 years since I was first diagnosed with this damned illness and my father still has no idea what I’ve been through. I was half tempted to pull up my skirt and show him the roadwork of scars across my legs. Or to give him some sort of lecture on the difference between feeling suicidal and actually acting out on it.

I’ve wanted to die for most of the past 15 years. I’ve only actually taken that extra step to try and destroy myself a handful of times. Twice, in this last year.

But since we’ve gotten my Lithium to a level that seems to stabilize me, I’ve definitely noticed that my self-harm has gone from a near-daily habit to one or twice a month. I’m hoping it’ll eventually stop completely. My suicidal urges have also decreased significantly. I would like to take a moment right now to point out that the two, though sometimes overlapped, are not directly related. For me, self injury comes from a place of anger and hatred. I’m trying to destroy something inside so I can be free. Sometimes, I think of it as cutting myself open to let the demons out. Suicidal urges tend to come from a quieter place in me, a sad, hurt, broken place. A place that is desperate for relief and rest. Self harm is, ironically, born from a strong urge to live.

You did read the part where I said I was mad, right? It’s called a mental illness because you’re sick. Your brain is malfunctioning and the messages getting to you are messed up but you think they’re right because you have no frame of reference to compare it to or else lack the tools to do the comparing with. Yes, I sometimes honestly believe there are demons in my skin. Yes, I sometimes honestly believe the only way to get them out and save myself is to cut my skin open. No, I would not advise this practice to anyone. Yes, I always hate myself after I do it, once I come back to my proper sensibilities.

I hide my scars because they embarrass me. I don’t want the questions. I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want attention. For a little while, a friend of mine made me promise to tell her whenever I cut myself. But she apparently couldn’t handle it. Now I don’t tell anyone.

When you fall outside of the social norm for one reason or another, you find yourself on a very lonely road. It’s not until someone tries to walk with you that you discover that it’s really more of a tightrope, and that trying to help you just puts them at risk.